Andrew Lammie
a story from Aberdeenshire
Thursday, June 18th, 2009 11:45 pm
Dear Journal,
Well, I'm back in Aberdeen, one of the largest cities in Scotland, where my grandmother and namesake Margaret Smith grew up. It's located in the northeastern Lowlands, an area with a fascinating history full of battles, royalty and intrigue. Aberdeen is an attractive city, with parks and gardens everywhere. I enjoyed walking around today, observing the locals and doing a little shopping. This evening was the best though — I went to a ceilidh, a traditional dancing party, with a friend I met on the ferry from Shetland. At first I was too shy to dance, but the music was so catchy that I couldn't keep still for long! I'm going to be sore tomorrow, but it was worth it.
Tomorrow is my last day in Scotland, and it will be a special one. Although Grandma Maggie grew up in Aberdeen, she always said that the family's true home was in Fyvie, a tiny town half an hour away. I look forward to wandering around the countryside, and to visiting Fyvie Castle, which is supposedly haunted. But most importantly, I'm going to Fyvie Kirkyard. Grandma used to say that if anyone in the family went to Fyvie, they must place a rose on the grave of Agnes "Annie" Smith, the cousin of one of my ancestors. The request seems a little mysterious. I have the strange feeling that there's another story here somewhere. I should get some sleep — tomorrow will be an interesting day!
Maggie
Well, I'm back in Aberdeen, one of the largest cities in Scotland, where my grandmother and namesake Margaret Smith grew up. It's located in the northeastern Lowlands, an area with a fascinating history full of battles, royalty and intrigue. Aberdeen is an attractive city, with parks and gardens everywhere. I enjoyed walking around today, observing the locals and doing a little shopping. This evening was the best though — I went to a ceilidh, a traditional dancing party, with a friend I met on the ferry from Shetland. At first I was too shy to dance, but the music was so catchy that I couldn't keep still for long! I'm going to be sore tomorrow, but it was worth it.
Tomorrow is my last day in Scotland, and it will be a special one. Although Grandma Maggie grew up in Aberdeen, she always said that the family's true home was in Fyvie, a tiny town half an hour away. I look forward to wandering around the countryside, and to visiting Fyvie Castle, which is supposedly haunted. But most importantly, I'm going to Fyvie Kirkyard. Grandma used to say that if anyone in the family went to Fyvie, they must place a rose on the grave of Agnes "Annie" Smith, the cousin of one of my ancestors. The request seems a little mysterious. I have the strange feeling that there's another story here somewhere. I should get some sleep — tomorrow will be an interesting day!
Maggie
Friday, June 19, 2009 8:30 pm
Dear Journal,
Wow — it was an interesting day! I'm still trying to make sense of it all. I'll write down everything I can — I don't want to forget anything.
The countryside was beautiful, and Fyvie Castle was fascinating, but unfortunately I don't remember a lot about it. The entire morning I felt distracted, as if I were waiting for something to happen, though I didn't know what. I do remember one thing in particular that caught my eye: there was a curious statue on the castle of a man with a trumpet. Although I wasn't able to look at it up close, something about it seemed sad, desperate even. I wasn't sure why.
I stopped for lunch in a larger town nearby, and bought a rose from a flower shop before heading back to Fyvie. The kirkyard was empty when I got there. Old, crumbling gravestones filled the partially-shaded grounds of the beautiful stone church. It didn't take me long to find what I was looking for. Annie's grave was in an old section of the kirkyard near the church. By it stood a large, intricate stone cross — a monument, it seemed. My curiosity grew. Who was this girl? What was her tragic fate?
My reverie was interrupted by the sound of soft humming. The voice was so smooth and deep that it sent shivers up my spine. Turning, I perceived a man, young and very handsome, leaning against the wall of the kirk. He smiled at me, but his eyes seemed sad. "What are you humming?" I asked.
"A song about Annie there," he replied, motioning towards the grave beside me. "Would you like to hear it?" I nodded.
I'll never forget his voice, nor the story he sang with such tenderness and emotion. Sweet, beautiful Annie had fallen in love with the Lord of Fyvie's trumpeter, Andrew Lammie, who wholeheartedly returned her devotion. They wanted nothing more than to marry, but Annie's family was vehemently against the idea of her marrying a servant. When Lord Fyvie found out, he tried to intervene for the couple, but in the process he let it slip that, all things being equal, he wouldn't mind marrying Annie himself. When Annie responded that she would rather have Andrew than the lord with all his power and wealth, her family went mad with rage. Feeling that the family's honor was being compromised, Annie's brother did the unthinkable — he beat her to death. As for Andrew Lammie, he died soon afterwards of a broken heart.
By the time the man was finished singing, I was moved to tears. I turned back to the beautiful cross in front of me, and laid my rose gently on Annie's grave. "Thank you," said the man, walking over to stand beside me. "She would have liked you. You understand her; you care. She didn't have any relatives like you back then." He paused, and we turned our gaze back to the stone cross. "I miss her so much," he whispered.
A moment past, and then it sunk in. How did he know that I was a relation? How could he miss her if she died long ago? I turned to question him, but I found myself face-to-face with no one. Startled, I looked all over the kirkyard, but he was gone. The only clue I could find was a trumpet, resting against the church wall where I'd first seen the man.
I smile when I think about it now. Everyone will think I'm crazy, but I don't mind. I really believe I met the ghost of Andrew Lammie in Fyvie Kirkyard today, and I'm so thankful I did — now, I have one more story, one more piece of the puzzle that makes up my family, and who I am.
Really, this entire trip has given me a connection to my grandparents and to my family history that I never would have had otherwise. I finally understand who we are and where we come from, and I feel so much richer for it. Although I'm really sad to be leaving Scotland tomorrow, I know I will treasure the experiences I've had here. I'm determined that they won't be my last, either — someday, I will come back. After all, this is my home.
Maggie
Wow — it was an interesting day! I'm still trying to make sense of it all. I'll write down everything I can — I don't want to forget anything.
The countryside was beautiful, and Fyvie Castle was fascinating, but unfortunately I don't remember a lot about it. The entire morning I felt distracted, as if I were waiting for something to happen, though I didn't know what. I do remember one thing in particular that caught my eye: there was a curious statue on the castle of a man with a trumpet. Although I wasn't able to look at it up close, something about it seemed sad, desperate even. I wasn't sure why.
I stopped for lunch in a larger town nearby, and bought a rose from a flower shop before heading back to Fyvie. The kirkyard was empty when I got there. Old, crumbling gravestones filled the partially-shaded grounds of the beautiful stone church. It didn't take me long to find what I was looking for. Annie's grave was in an old section of the kirkyard near the church. By it stood a large, intricate stone cross — a monument, it seemed. My curiosity grew. Who was this girl? What was her tragic fate?
My reverie was interrupted by the sound of soft humming. The voice was so smooth and deep that it sent shivers up my spine. Turning, I perceived a man, young and very handsome, leaning against the wall of the kirk. He smiled at me, but his eyes seemed sad. "What are you humming?" I asked.
"A song about Annie there," he replied, motioning towards the grave beside me. "Would you like to hear it?" I nodded.
I'll never forget his voice, nor the story he sang with such tenderness and emotion. Sweet, beautiful Annie had fallen in love with the Lord of Fyvie's trumpeter, Andrew Lammie, who wholeheartedly returned her devotion. They wanted nothing more than to marry, but Annie's family was vehemently against the idea of her marrying a servant. When Lord Fyvie found out, he tried to intervene for the couple, but in the process he let it slip that, all things being equal, he wouldn't mind marrying Annie himself. When Annie responded that she would rather have Andrew than the lord with all his power and wealth, her family went mad with rage. Feeling that the family's honor was being compromised, Annie's brother did the unthinkable — he beat her to death. As for Andrew Lammie, he died soon afterwards of a broken heart.
By the time the man was finished singing, I was moved to tears. I turned back to the beautiful cross in front of me, and laid my rose gently on Annie's grave. "Thank you," said the man, walking over to stand beside me. "She would have liked you. You understand her; you care. She didn't have any relatives like you back then." He paused, and we turned our gaze back to the stone cross. "I miss her so much," he whispered.
A moment past, and then it sunk in. How did he know that I was a relation? How could he miss her if she died long ago? I turned to question him, but I found myself face-to-face with no one. Startled, I looked all over the kirkyard, but he was gone. The only clue I could find was a trumpet, resting against the church wall where I'd first seen the man.
I smile when I think about it now. Everyone will think I'm crazy, but I don't mind. I really believe I met the ghost of Andrew Lammie in Fyvie Kirkyard today, and I'm so thankful I did — now, I have one more story, one more piece of the puzzle that makes up my family, and who I am.
Really, this entire trip has given me a connection to my grandparents and to my family history that I never would have had otherwise. I finally understand who we are and where we come from, and I feel so much richer for it. Although I'm really sad to be leaving Scotland tomorrow, I know I will treasure the experiences I've had here. I'm determined that they won't be my last, either — someday, I will come back. After all, this is my home.
Maggie
Author's Note
For my final story, I drew from a very different type
of Scottish folklore. The previous stories were more along the
lines of fairy tales; this story is an example of a Scottish
ballad.
Like many other Scottish and English ballads, it is a tragic tale based
on actual historical events. Annie Smith and Andrew Lammie were
real people who lived in the 17th century. Annie died in January
of 1673. Her grave is in Fyvie Kirkyard, and a statue of Andrew
Lammie and his trumpet stands atop Fyvie Castle. The events the ballad
describes are supposedly what truly happened, although it is difficult
to know how much has been romanticized and elaborated upon over the
years.
"Andrew Lammie" is one of the famous Child Ballads, collected by Francis James Child in the late 19th century. There are several different variations of the ballad, but I based my version off of the one I am most familiar with, #233C. I did not change the details of the story itself, but I did shorten it and tell it in prose instead of in its traditional ballad form.
From the moment I first began planning my storybook, I knew this was one of the stories I had to include. I fell in love with the ballad several years ago after hearing it sung by one of my favorite Scottish bands, Old Blind Dogs. The smooth, moving voice of their lead singer is what inspired me to have the ghost of Andrew Lammie sing the ballad to Maggie. The band's beautiful rendition, "Mill O' Tifty," is available on iTunes.
Bibliography: "233C: Andrew Lammie" by Francis James Child, from The English and Scottish Popular Ballads (1882-1898). Web Source: Sacred Texts Archive
"Fyvie in Aberdeenshire, North East Scotland". Web Source: Turriff and District, Aberdeenshire Website
"The Mill O' Tifty's Annie". Web Source: The Flag in the Wind
"Mill o' Tifty's Annie" published by Lewis Smith and Son, Aberdeen. Web Source: Ascanius; or, the Young Adventurer
Image 1: Fyvie Castle, 19th April 2005, by northstar37. Web Source: northstar37's PBase Gallery
Image 2: View from the path at Tillyfar. Fyvie castle can be seen. By Mark Carter. Web Source: Mark Carter's Picasa
Image 3: Tifty's Annie's grave, Fyvie Church, Aberdeenshire, by Stanley Bruce (Bard o' Buchan). Web Source: World 66
Image 4: Pictish Symbol Stones (on Fyvie Kirk), by Peter Ward. Web Source: Your Local Web: Fyvie
"Andrew Lammie" is one of the famous Child Ballads, collected by Francis James Child in the late 19th century. There are several different variations of the ballad, but I based my version off of the one I am most familiar with, #233C. I did not change the details of the story itself, but I did shorten it and tell it in prose instead of in its traditional ballad form.
From the moment I first began planning my storybook, I knew this was one of the stories I had to include. I fell in love with the ballad several years ago after hearing it sung by one of my favorite Scottish bands, Old Blind Dogs. The smooth, moving voice of their lead singer is what inspired me to have the ghost of Andrew Lammie sing the ballad to Maggie. The band's beautiful rendition, "Mill O' Tifty," is available on iTunes.
Bibliography: "233C: Andrew Lammie" by Francis James Child, from The English and Scottish Popular Ballads (1882-1898). Web Source: Sacred Texts Archive
"Fyvie in Aberdeenshire, North East Scotland". Web Source: Turriff and District, Aberdeenshire Website
"The Mill O' Tifty's Annie". Web Source: The Flag in the Wind
"Mill o' Tifty's Annie" published by Lewis Smith and Son, Aberdeen. Web Source: Ascanius; or, the Young Adventurer
Image 1: Fyvie Castle, 19th April 2005, by northstar37. Web Source: northstar37's PBase Gallery
Image 2: View from the path at Tillyfar. Fyvie castle can be seen. By Mark Carter. Web Source: Mark Carter's Picasa
Image 3: Tifty's Annie's grave, Fyvie Church, Aberdeenshire, by Stanley Bruce (Bard o' Buchan). Web Source: World 66
Image 4: Pictish Symbol Stones (on Fyvie Kirk), by Peter Ward. Web Source: Your Local Web: Fyvie
Coverpage
- Introduction - The Changeling - The King of Lochlin's Three Daughters
- Gioga's Son -
Andrew Lammie